


Pictures of You

by cametobuyplums



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Karen Page is a Good Wingwoman, Matt Murdock is a Soft But Sexy Puppy, Nude Photos, Oral Sex, Photographer Reader, Reporter Karen Page, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cametobuyplums/pseuds/cametobuyplums
Summary: In which you find a new subject for your photographs.





	Pictures of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jobean12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jobean12/gifts).



> Hello, loves. This is a fic request for the ever wonderful Jo. I'm convinced she's an actual angel because of all the support she continuously showers me with. Team Matt Murdock Needs More Love, always. Happy reading!
> 
> If you have a request of your own, please feel free to drop by my Tumblr (link in the End Notes).

The streets are in chaos. War wages around you. It’s a battlefield right here in New York and just as you do every evening, you stand in the doorway and take a few deep breaths. Selfie sticks, otherwise known as Satan’s Instruments. If you had a penny for every one you’ve had to dodge so far you’d be able to afford better beer than the lousy, cheap stuff they serve at Josie’s. That’s where you’re headed now, thank God you’re in the clear once you get off the street.

The subway poses its own problems, though. Realistically, how many selfies does someone need to take on their new iPhone? You don’t have anything against iPhones, if anything, you’re thrilled their camera specs are even better this year. What you hate is how everyone and their Aunt Bessie’s goat in Wakanda thinks they’re suddenly a photographer. Your profession is seriously underestimated, it’s seen as frivolous and nothing more than a mere pastime.

Needless to say, you’re not in the best of moods by the time you get to Josie’s. Karen waves at you from a table in the corner and you plop into the seat beside her with a groan. She pushes a beer towards you in a sympathetic show of solidarity. Journalism is a dying breed and she’s rather exhausted of explaining that no, she is not a blogger, she is an investigative journalist for The Bulletin. Her one saving grace, much like your own, is that she is dedicated to her craft.

“How’s the story coming along?” you ask, taking a healthy sip of your beer.

“Another dead end,” she sighs, running a hand through her blonde hair. “But I think I’m getting close.”

You snort. Karen is stubborn, her persistence knows no bounds. Most people would throw in the towel after having so many doors shut in their face but not her. Although, you suppose that her instincts have yet to let her down. A dynamic duo of sorts, Karen writes the hard-hitting stories and you capture her words with your camera. Truthfully, you’re certain that you two are the sole reason The Bulletin does half as well as it does.

The door opens, bringing in a breeze and Karen peers over your shoulder, waving at someone but you miss it, fingers tapping at the buttons on your camera, absorbed in flicking through the photographs you’d taken earlier.

“I invited some old friends,” says Karen with a sweet smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You nod, humming in a non-committal way, still focused on your camera. The irony of Josie’s is the lighting. It’s perfect, one of your favourite spots in all of Hell’s Kitchen. It’s dark yes, but the slivers of light that penetrate the dingy bar are so quintessentially New York. It’s in the neon lights that you see people for who they really are, all the little details most would miss. And right now, there’s a man at the bar you can’t take your eyes off.

Awash with the orange-red glow of buzzing neon signs, you make out a softly defined face with a soft peppering of dark stubble. He stands at an angle, the right side of his face swathed in soft red light and the left cast in shadow. The white twinkling bulbs that run the length of the bar reflect off his glasses, casting a soft glow as he smiles toothily. You can’t help it. You shouldn’t, but he looks beautiful and the lighting is just right. You raise your camera and take a picture.

“Who did you just take a picture of?” asks Karen sharply.

“No-one,” you smile guiltily, but Karen isn’t convinced so you hold your camera out. “Oh come on, it’s just a close up of his smile.”

Karen shoots you unfazed scepticism before glancing down at your offering. She reluctantly agrees that it  is a nicely captured moment and you feel a smug sense of pride until Karen looks back up at the bar. There’s confusion clouding her eyes, and then it suddenly lifts.

“Oh my gosh,” she giggles. “That’s- Matt! Foggy! Well, it’s about time.”

It’s  _ him _ . The man from the bar. He greets Karen with familiarity and you make a mental note to ask why she’s waited so long to introduce you. He stands near enough to allow you a good look. Handsome, in a soft, classic kind of way. A gentle smile, wrinkles just peeping out under his dark lenses, defined cheeks when that smile widens. Oh, you’re staring. He can’t know that, can he?

“Matt, Foggy,” says Karen. “This is my friend I was telling you about.”

Foggy is all cheeky pleasantries, greeting you in a friendly fashion but it’s Matt you’re enraptured by, his large hand warm and rough around your own. His fingers drag against your palm when he draws back, your heart fluttering at the feel.

Lawyers, the pair of them, the very ones Karen worked for before joining The Bulletin. They’re as similar as they are different and as lovely as Foggy is, you find yourself hanging off Matt’s every word. His voice is fast becoming your addiction, it’s low and divine, smooth like dark chocolate and you let yourself be wrapped up in it. Well-spoken, with an intelligence that’s founded in common sense, an increasingly rare quality. But, more than that, pressingly so, is how desperately you want to take another picture of him. You’re granted the chance when he slips off to play a game of pool with Foggy. (Can a blind man play pool?)

Karen snorts, snapping you out of your trance. You raise an eyebrow and she giggles into her beer, trying not to spill it as her shoulders shake violently.

“Could you be any more obvious?”

“What?”

“You’re totally crushing on Matt!”

A moment’s hesitation in which you consider vehemently denying her accusations but it’s Karen, she knows your moony expression far too well. Your brief pause is all the confirmation she needs and you’re a blushing schoolgirl, begging her not to make it  _ more _ obvious.

“He’s just so cute, Karen!” you lament, your two beers loosening your lips. “He’s a soft puppy, but sexy at the same time.”

“Wow,” laughs Karen. “I have never heard Matt Murdock be described as a  _ soft but sexy puppy _ before.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumble, not without a smile. “He  _ is _ cute though, right?”

“Tell him!”

Karen is an unstoppable force, encouraging you to ask Matt out but you’re fine where you are, admiring him from afar and from behind the safety of your camera lens. A few more snaps, close ups so his whole face isn’t revealed. You think he captures well that way, the roundness of his cheeks, the glimmer of his glasses, the floppy muss of hair that bounces when he shakes his head.

You’re eventually dragged into the game, you and Matt against Karen and Foggy. Matt’s atrocious, and Karen very good so it’s well balanced. You end up helping Matt take his shots, helping him line up, hands delicately but purposefully placed over his. It’s all deliberate, of course. An orchestration of sorts by Karen. Naturally, she’s the first to leave when her phone buzzes with a potential lead. Foggy calls it a night soon after, tipsy exclamations of the pretty blonde girlfriend he has waiting for him back home.

The final dregs of your beer remaining, you figure now is as good a time as ever to come clean. Matt’s silent, an attentive listener as you confess you couldn’t resist taking some pictures of him. You promise to delete them if you’ve overstepped a boundary, but he’s a beautiful subject. He grins at that, a small lopsided smile that sets off a family of butterflies in your belly.

“Well,” he muses. “I wouldn’t know if I’m beautiful enough to be photographed. I’ll just have to take your word for it. Can you describe the pictures to me?”

It’s odd. Normally your pictures speak for themselves and you do your best to convey the intricacy, his features you’ve captured and that all important lighting. That takes Matt by surprise but you’re adamant about it. New York is a city that comes alive at night, you love the neon signs, the bright lights of the city and the fairy lights in hipster Brooklyn bars. And Matt, well, they do him justice. Red light in particular, although you’re not sure why.

“Would it be forward of me to tell you I know where you’d find good lighting?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it.”

Matt’s earnest smile seals itself in your memory, as does the way you feel when his fingers mingle with yours, squeezing gently as he leads the way. Despite his blindness, you feel quite safe letting him walk you through the grimy seats of Hell’s Kitchen. Your heart’s thumping under your jacket, it skips a beat when you realise you’re at his apartment. Another squeeze of his hand, and you squeeze back, because he can’t see your smile.

True to his word, Matt’s apartment basks in glorious light. You gasp, dropping his hand and stepping into the centre of the room. Blue, red, yellow, purple. Colours spill through scuffed windows and dance in bright, obnoxious harmony. Most people would be horrified, but you find beauty in the madness. An unmistakable smile on your face, exuding excitement.

“It’s  _ beautiful _ ,” you breathe, turning to look at Matt and your demeanour takes a turn for the timid. “Could- do you think I can take some pictures in this light? Of you?”

Matt expresses his surprise that you still want him to be the subject of your photographs. You insist, it’s not out of pity or gratitude for bringing you here. You delight in his features, the defined cupid’s bow of his lips and the natural tousle of his hair. You hate models, they’re vain and pretentious and think they’re superior in knowledge. There’s an honesty about Matt, a certain realness that you want to pen in a photograph. You’re more brief in your explanation, of course, but you’re overcome with the oddest sensation that Matt knows more than he lets on.

Matt shuffles awkwardly to the couch, fingers feeling the way. It’s stiff, the way he sits and your words soothe him until he’s relaxed, that goofy smile back again. You hover in front of him, hands outstretched.

“Do you mind if I… ?”

“No, please,” he shakes his head, hair bouncing. “I’m afraid telling me to look this way won’t work, so please feel free to move me into position.”

You bite back a giggle at the innuendo, but you can still feel the buzz of a few beers. You glide your hands over him, discovering a wealth of lean muscle that sparks a jolt of arousal. A heated flush begins to creep over you, a distraction you push aside. Another discovery reveals that you could photograph Matt until the end of time. The wide stretch of his smile, the way his hair falls a little over his forehead, the sharp definition of his jaw, the pointed roundness of his nose, the lush thickness of his eyebrows. And then you’re in front of him again.

“Matt?” you murmur. “You can say no if you feel uncomfortable, but can I take off your glasses?”

Matt voices his agreement, steadily and unfalteringly. Your fingers pinch at the frames, carefully sliding them. Unseeing eyes fix at a spot over your shoulder and it’s then you know every part of this man is beautiful. His eyelids briefly flutter, chin tilted up and head cocked to the side as he awaits your reaction.

“You have lovely eyes.” you whisper.

And it’s true. They are lovely. A rich shade of brown, warm just as much as the rest of him. Bright and glassy. Full of charm and wonder. Matt is the most relaxed you’ve seen him. He photographs in the most exquisite way. And then the mood shifts. All because he bites his lip, his tongue darting out to sweep over a small scar he has at the corner of his mouth. It entices you, and you’re back in front of him, loosening his tie, undoing a couple of buttons on his shirt and asking if he’s alright. He has no objections.

You dare to take a step further, Matt’s chin rising as if he’s sniffing the air. He can hear the scuffle of you affixing your camera to your tripod. A small beep and you sit down beside him, knee brushing his and your scent engulfing him as you tuck a small remote control into his palm. You brush his finger over a large button at the top. A small press, a click, a picture. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob when he swallows.

You bring Matt’s hand up in yours, so he can feel you undo the buttons on your blouse.  _ Click _ .

You giggle, much to his amusement and continue to remove your blouse. It lands on the floor and Matt’s hand is at your waist, stroking your bare skin almost tentatively. Fair is fair, he shrugs off his shirt and you reach out to trail your fingers over his naked chest. A stomach with defined lines, the faint trace of a pink scar here and there, you stroke his collarbone.  _ Click _ .

Your skirt is next, the metallic swoosh of the zip flying through the air. The cold air erupts goosebumps all over your skin, but Matt’s already banishing them with his hands, fingers deft but slightly rough. His belt clinks as you undo it, both of you giggling quietly as he fumbles out his pants a little awkwardly. The moment deserves to be revisited.  _ Click _ .

Sitting there in just your underwear respectively, Matt toys with the remote. The air around you is hot with tension, unbearable sensuality and it’s so intimate. So naughty and kinky too, but in an arousing way. You’re already breathless from his light touches. He hasn’t even kissed you and your brain is doused in desire. You touch him too, feeling him tighten and tense beneath your fingers because this too, is new for him.

“Can I kiss you?”

Matt speaks in that silky smooth voice except now, it’s dripping with sex. He’s met with little resistance as you all but offer yourself to him. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek and your lashes flutter against your cheeks when he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It’s sweet but you’re rendered breathless, chasing his mouth when he pulls away and he chuckles, appeasing you with another kiss. His lips are soft but powerful, passionately moving against yours and it ignites a fire low in your belly.

There’s a desperation in the way you shed the last of your clothes, skin begging for Matt’s touch. He’s equally growing urgent, kissing you with renewed heat, tongue gliding along the seam of your lips for entrance that’s easily granted. He needs no invitation, hands sliding down your neck to your breasts. A low hum rumbles in his chest, you arch into him with need. Every slide of his fingers is deliberate, you feel like you’re on edge as he circles them around your breasts, sweeping over your nipples until you moan into his mouth.

You’re gasping for breath as Matt dips his head, open-mouthed kisses planted along the column of your neck. The flick of his tongue at your pulse point, his lips softly sucking at a spot that sends another wave of pleasure rolling through you. He rolls your nipples between his fingers and your gasp of his name almost drowns out the click of the camera. You leave angry red crescents in his shoulders before pulling at the waistband of his black boxers, casting them aside and gripping him in your hand.

Matt groans quietly as you marvel at the velvety weight of him, stroking him up and down as you nip at his earlobe. A hand between your breasts pushes you firmly, your back hitting the cushions and Matt looms over you for a split second before he captures your lips in another searing kiss. His hands slide up your calves, before he slides down to lay kisses over your hips. Your fingers grasp at his hair, your head falling back as Matt’s nose along your thigh and dangerously close to your dripping heat.

You feel heady, needy and it’s sheer ecstasy when Matt takes his first taste of you. He licks the length of your wet folds, humming in satisfaction and you gasp out his name again. His tongue darts out, a pleasurable assault as he takes his time finding out what will earn him the prettiest moans and then he’s diving in like a man starved. Your hips rock against his face and he chuckles, the vibration has you cry out and clamp your thighs around his head. You’re sure hear the click of the camera again but you couldn’t care less, you can feel the beginning tremors of your orgasm approaching as he presses his fingers into you, curling them and it’s enough to tip you over the edge, twisting and tumbling as he draws out every erotic sensation of your orgasm.

“Matt,” you pant, vision still blurry. “You’re… wow, you’re really good at that.”

Matt simply smiles against your lips, smiling in that sweet way as if he’s not just given you one of the most incredible orgasms of your life. You want to return the favour, your hand’s already wrapped around his cock again, thumb gliding across the tip and he buries his face in your neck, whimpering that he wants to be in you. The husky restraint of his voice is a shockwave to your core, you feel arousal dampen your thighs once more as he props himself up on his elbows.

Matt’s mouth falls open as he slowly pressed into you and you commit the image to your memory. He feels heavenly, hot and hard and you can’t help but purr as the base of his cock rubs deliciously against your clit. He pulls out just as slowly, before sliding in a little faster each time until you’re scrabbling at his shoulders and mewling at him lustfully. You watch the muscles in his arms clench with every move, he’s nuzzling his face into your neck and you can feel that coil tightening in your belly again. You’re light-headed, chanting Matt’s name and there’s a telltale flush blanketing his cheeks and chest. You’re close, so damn close and he’s groaning right in your ear, telling you to let go so you do just as the camera clicks.

Matt’s gorgeous when he comes, pink lips parted and sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes are glassy and his hips judder against yours as he gasps out his release. You cling to him, arms wrapped tightly around his strong shoulders until he lifts his head, kissing you with unhidden bliss. A lopsided smirk curves his lips up.

“Did you get the pictures you wanted?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://cametobuyplums.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [If you enjoy my writing please consider buying me a coffee](https://ko-fi.com/cametobuyplums)


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